


Rewind

by Face_of_Poe



Series: The Conway Cabal [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, First Time Together, First Time Topping, Fluff and Smut, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Porn with Feelings, with a hint of snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 12:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14285442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Face_of_Poe/pseuds/Face_of_Poe
Summary: Alexander wakes up slow and lazy the morning of Christmas Eve.





	Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is... really just an excuse for these two dorks to finally get the sexytimes they deserve in this universe, sorry(not sorry).   
> If you're just here for the sexytimes, I think it probably stands well enough on its own.   
> If you've read the rest of this series, this fic slots in about a month after scene 49 (ch 11) from Shouting in the Square, when Alexander moves in with John and Edward in DC.  
> But it's really just sentimental porn. 
> 
> (*the vaguest of vague passing references to past underage/dub-con from prior fics*)

Alexander wakes up slow and lazy the morning of Christmas Eve. An arm wrapped loose around his waist, John’s nose nuzzling at the back of his neck. “G’morning, sleepy.”

“Guh,” he protests, and burrows further under the blanket. “Time is it?”

A soft chuckle makes John’s chest rumble against his back, and then a hand is slipping under the hem of his t-shirt. “Quarter of ten.”

“Guh.”

“Is that a _too early_ noise or a _too late_ one.”

“Guh.”

The questing fingertips drag across his stomach, making the muscles clench and earning an undignified squeak, before John pulls back and plants a smacking kiss to his cheek. “A _more coffee_ noise, then.”

He climbs out of bed, ignoring Alexander’s grumbled noise of protest at the loss of shared body heat. As soft footsteps pad down the stairs towards the kitchen, he flops over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, trying to place his mood. A month since his move to D.C. and still in a certain amount of awe at this contentment.

Still in a state of wide-eyed wonderment every time he walks into the west wing of the White House, the experience made no less magical by the holiday décor, icicles in the lawn and trees in the lobby.

The gentle melding of a turbulent past and the fresh start on his future with last night’s congressional Christmas party. John Adams looking like he'd swallowed something quite sour when their paths crossed, Henry Laurens greeting him with a warmth that, despite John’s assurances, still floored Alexander. All three of the Schuyler sisters accompanying their father, Jack Custis looking vaguely confused to find him there after long nights together in the _Spec_ offices at Columbia.

Adrienne looking radiant, and shooting Lafayette looks every time he declared the White House baking to be far inferior to hers.

Madison throwing him an assessing look from a neighboring table, and raising his glass in silent acknowledgement. A year since their meeting in New York, the meeting where Madison called him out as _Publius_ , and he’s still not sure what to do with that, among the three people who know that particular truth.

Granted, the window for telling Lafayette or even the president probably closed the minute he signed his acceptance of the job offer, so it is what it is.

He perks up a little with the smell of coffee, meandering about his own thoughts. But when he sees John reappear in the doorway, mug in each hand, sleep-tousled hair and a yawn poorly concealed behind one forearm, that surge of complete and utter contentment takes hold again and he sits up. Props the pillows against the headboard, and then takes the proffered cup and rests it instead on the bedside table.

And then he takes the other mug from John’s hands, too. Places it next to his, the ceramic clinking together, and takes John by the wrist and tugs him back to the bed. “I don’t think,” he murmurs against John’s laughing mouth, “it’s coffee I need after all.”

“No,” John grins around a kiss and lets himself be maneuvered into straddling Alexander’s lap. Blinking down at him serenely. “What d’you need, then?”

“You.”

“Yeah?”

He wraps his arms around John’s waist and presses his cheek into his chest for a moment. Listening to his heart thudding along. Warm and sweet and perfect John.

He pulls back for another kiss. “Yeah,” he whispers, licking into his mouth and sliding his hands under the hem of John’s shirt. “You.” Shirt up and over his head, tossed to the floor. Fingertips trailing down bared skin, mapping constellations of freckles before retracing the path with his tongue. Hears John’s breath go a little ragged, and then skims his thumb over a dark nipple just to hear him gasp, feels fingers clutch into the back of his t-shirt and then tighten their grip when he lowers his hand to palm carefully over the erection that’s all-too-obvious in a pair of sweatpants. “I want,” he murmurs hot against John’s ear, “to get my mouth on you.”

“Always said you should put that mouth of yours to better use.”

Alexander jabs John in his ticklish side, and much laughing and shuffling ensues while they approximately exchange positions, Alexander straddling John’s waist while he stares up at him from flat on his back, flushed and wide-eyed and adoring.

It’s an expression he’s gotten more used to seeing this past month. One he’s gotten more comfortable _acknowledging_ instead of just flushing and looking away, abashed. One he’s gotten more comfortable _reciprocating_.

He stretches out along the length of John’s semi-clothed body and presses against him. Delights in the way John’s hands automatically drift to his hips to hold him steady, the slightest unconscious movement seeking friction. Plants a deep, steady kiss on his mouth.

He knows what the answer’s going to be, but he asks anyway. “Can I?”

“Of course,” John tells him softly, fondly.

So he works his way down towards the foot of the bed. Kisses John’s mouth once more before tracing his lips down across his jaw, under his ear and down his neck. Gets a gentle chuckle when he scrunches up his nose, tickled by the smattering of hair across John’s chest, and then keeps going while fingers weave carefully into his hair, smoothing strands out of his eyes.

John’s stomach spasms when he kisses just below his navel, so he does it again, and then licks a line across one prominent hipbone and then the other, grinning.

And then he hooks careful fingertips into the waistband of his sweats and tugs them inch by inch down over his hips. All the while keenly aware of some fundamental truths:

First- they’ve never done this before. Not together.

Second - John would wait forever for him to be ready, and he has no idea what he’s done in his almost twenty-one years to deserve a boyfriend like him.

And third - he _is_ ready, nonetheless.

Ready, but keenly aware that if he thinks too long and hard on the fact that their sex life together has thus far been limited to riling each other up on Skype and sloppy hand jobs in shared showers, he’ll _make_ himself nervous. So he doesn’t waste time on overthinking it. Doesn’t bother considering things like technique and angles, just gets his pants far enough out of the way, leaving John to wriggle free of them entirely in his own time, and touches his tongue to the wetness already glistening on the head of his cock.

That barest of touches, and John positively _groans_ , drops his hands from Alexander’s hair and curls his fingers into the sheets. Which is encouraging, to say the least, so he goes for it with a bit more confidence. Curls one hand around the base, braces his other forearm over John’s hip and takes him down far as he can.

He glances at John’s face when he comes back up. Feels a hot surge of longing and arousal at the hooded look in his eyes, the way his tongue darts out to wet his parted pink lips. Short, shallow breaths he can both hear and feel with the rhythmic movement of John’s stomach under his arm.

And because he’s something of a dick at heart, he pulls off completely and moves his hand slowly from root to tip, rubs his thumb lightly over the head, and comments casually, “Long time?”

“Not as long as _you_ ,” John fires right back, “and if you want a turn, you better get – _fuck_ ,” his head thuds back against the pillows, and Alexander works in silence for a couple of minutes, save the sharp pant of John’s ragged breathing. The slick sounds of his mouth and hand eliciting those harsh breaths.

Eventually, fingers softly brush against his cheek, drawing his attention up again. “Hm?” he mumbles, mouth full, and John laughs again, so open and full of honest delight.

“No pressure, but, uh…” He _blushes_ , and Alexander thinks that might be the cutest thing he’s ever seen. John, embarrassed in this moment. “Will you, um… put your fingers in me while you do that?”

“Oh.” He pulls off with a wet _pop_. “Yeah, I can, uh…” He starts thinking, then, can _feel_ the over-processing going on inside his head even as he runs a hand absently over the freckled skin of John’s thigh.

“It’s okay if you don’t -”

“ _No_ ,” he says firmly. “I just.”

This isn’t something he’s ever felt the need to do to himself; and it’s been the better part of four years since someone else has done it to him. But he lets the hesitation in his hands, on his face, talk for him because John knows all of that, because they had a long and very blunt conversation early on in the interests of settling the past and starting to move forward.

So instead he just says: “Talk me through?”

“C’mere.” John urges him back up the bed. Kisses him slow and deep, winds his hands around his waist and under his shirt, a crosscurrent of lazy contentment and the ache of physical desire. Pulls the neckline of his shirt out of the way and mouths down to his collarbone. “Can I get rid of this?”

A bit more shuffling and his shirt joins John’s on the floor, followed moments later by the pants John finally kicks free and sends flying. Alexander reaches over and slides open the top drawer in the nightstand, digs around blindly through a couple unopened boxes of condoms, some lotion, massage oil, until he turns up the lubricant bottle and drops it on the bed.

“Okay.” He rubs his hands together and shuffles his way back down the bed. Ducks down to lick a quick line up John’s leaking cock and making him swear softly and nearly drop the bottle. “Gimme.”

John takes Alexander’s hand in his though, instead of passing over the bottle. Some of the slippery fluid slides between his fingers and across his palm while John draws one leg up and guides their hands together slowly down between his legs, excess lube glistening on his skin as they move.

“Just take it slow,” John murmurs as he moves them so that Alexander’s fingers skim lightly over his hole. “You’re not gonna hurt me. Take it slow, and add some more lube if it starts feeling dry.”

“No such thing as too much lube?”

John chuckles and withdraws his own hand. Relaxes back, little hitches in his breathing as Alexander strokes curiously across his hole with careful fingertips, teasing, not yet pushing in. “While I appreciate the sentiment behind that old adage, _too_ much lube does come with the potential of not _enough_ friction, in my personal opinion, but rest assured, we can spend as much time as you want experimenting with that later.”

“Hm, optimistic,” Alexander grins and bites his lip, then leans down to draw John’s leaking and flushed cock back into his mouth as he carefully slides the tip of his index finger in past the tight ring of muscle.

And then he pulls off again almost immediately and frowns.

“What’s wrong?” John asks immediately, propping halfway up on one elbow.

“Am I supposed to be able to get my dick in here?” He withdraws his finger and then slides it in up to the first knuckle. “I’m just saying, it’s _really_ tight and -”

John snatches up the pillow from the other side of the bed and lobs it at Alexander’s head. “Not at this rate, you’re not.”

“Too big?”

“Too _obnoxious_ ,” he snarks, “don’t oversell yourself.”

“Wow,” he pushes deeper, lets the tip of his middle finger drag slowly down from the smooth skin just behind his balls. “Asshole.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

Alexander grins at him and uses his free hand to resume stroking his cock. Can’t bear to tear his eyes away from where his second finger is teasing along the first. From the way John’s body opens up for him when he pulls his index finger back out until just the tip of it is still inside and then wriggles the tip of his middle finger past the tight muscle alongside it.

He pushes them in together, slowly, and feels the sharp tug of something new spiking his arousal as he watches the digits sink into John’s body. Watches and feels his body stretch to accommodate their girth.

John shifts and groans and collapses flat on his back again with a soft, “Guh.”

“That a _too much_ sound or a _not enough_ sound?” he teases as he snags the bottle from where it’s fallen by John’s hip and dribbles a bit more lube around his fingers before pushing them both deeper, deep as he can.

John finds his voice, but instead of answering, he tells him in a gravelly voice, “Flip your wrist around – no, don’t pull out, just – _Jesus_ , yes, like – okay,” he whispers as Alexander repositions his hand, experiments with spreading his fingers apart as best he’s able in the tight heat surrounding them. “Now press the tips of your fingers _up_ and pull back a little?”

He knows when he’s found the spot John’s seeking when a longer, louder groan escapes him and his cock twitches and jumps in Alexander’s hand. So he rubs experimentally around the same spot and finally leans back down to mouth wetly up his length until he draws the head of his cock in and tongues over his slit, tasting the steadily-leaking precome.

“I am _not_ going to last long,” John warns him with a shaky laugh. “Just a heads-up.”

“Oh,” he mumbles around him, before taking him deep once, twice, a third time, and then pulling off again. He slides his hand steadily up and down to compensate and glances down, contemplating a third finger as he presses the first two deep as they’ll go. “Did you want - ? I mean. Can I -?”

“Yes,” John blurts with a start, propping up so fast on his elbows that he nearly dislodges Alexander’s fingers as he pulls them back. “Oh my God, yes, if you – _yes_.”

“That’s a yes, then?”

His fingers _are_ dislodged when John flips over onto his side so he can rummage for one of the condom boxes that have been lurking in the nightstand since Alexander moved in a month ago. Alexander pets absently over his hip with his clean(er) hand while John fumbles with the box with an urgency that makes him giggle. Elated. Eager.

Keenly cognizant of the wet spot that’s been steadily growing on the front of his pajama pants, and he finally stands to shuck them.

John beckons him forward and hooks a hand behind on knee, draws him forward to kneel on the bed by his head. Takes Alexander’s cock shallowly in his mouth; suckles at the head, licking away the precome, and then pulls back and slides the condom from the wrapper and rolls it carefully over him.

Pulls him in for a quick kiss and whispers hot in his ear, “Let me ride you?”

Which is how he finds himself propped on the pillows again, enraptured by every line and muscle of John’s body, every freckle, as he climbs into Alexander’s lap, hair mussed and wild, and reaches down with another generous squeeze of the lube bottle in his hand to coat the condom.

Alexander lets his hands settle lightly at John’s waist as he drinks in the image before him. “You’re really beautiful.” Which is only compounded by the beaming smile that lights his boyfriend’s face. “Needless to say, I’m probably not going to… last all that long.”

“There’s another old adage I like,” John murmurs as he sinks down, Alexander’s cock gripped lightly in one hand and the other steadying against his stomach, “about practice and perfection and the like.”

Any attempt at a witty response is abandoned by the yielding pressure, the slow slide into tight heat, and he instinctively bucks up. Which elicits a breathy chuckle from John and a hand at his thigh to stay him. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just – _ah_ ,” he takes the head in, and Alexander forgets to breathe, “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

John hovers there a second. Adjusts. Pulls back ever so slightly before pressing down again, taking in a bit more and repeat. He builds up a rhythm, rocking back and forth, cock flushed hard and straining between them, and just lets Alexander sit back and process the new sensations while he does the work.

When he’s finally taken him deep as he can, John whimpers a little and sighs; leans forward so they’re chest to chest and presses his lips to Alexander’s jaw. “You feel good.”

“I don’t have a word for how you feel,” he admits, “but _good_ doesn’t begin to do it justice.”

John grins at him, wicked. Sits up a bit again and takes Alexander’s hands, still at his waist, and moves them lower, cupping his ass. “Pull your feet up flat?”

So he does and _oh_ , there’s the leverage he’s been lacking. He thrusts up once, gentle. John shifts, seeking a different angle, and then moans the next time he bucks up artlessly into him. So, attempting not to change his position at all, Alexander repeats the motion once, twice, three times, and then John is cursing softly under his breath, one hand darting down to stroke his own cock seconds before he comes, spilling hot across Alexander’s belly. “ _Shit_.”

The sight of him coming so completely undone is nearly enough to send Alexander over the edge; the tightening sensation around his cock as John orgasms finishes the job anyway, and he’s spilling into the condom still buried deep inside John while he presses his face into a sweaty shoulder, gasping.

Then the shoulder shakes and he glances up at John’s laughing face; lets out a chuckle of his own, which cuts off with a soft sound, caught between pleasure and overstimulation as John rises slowly up and off of him. “Okay, so it’s been a while.”

“Don’t feel bad, I feel like I should win a prize for not coming first, my first time topping.”

John collapses by his side with an exhausted chuckle and they curl in to face one another, just barely not touching. “Yeah?” he asks, voice a bit rough for his recent efforts. “What kind of prize you got in mind?”

“Well.”

He traces a finger up the smooth skin of John’s inner arm. Brushes fingers across his neck, tucks sweaty hair out of his face and –

-and it should feel gross, this moment. Just after. Sticky with come and lube, the condom drying on his softening cock.

It should, but he can’t summon the energy to feel anything except this contented, lazy perfection. Warm in their bed – _their_ bed, and a month later he can still barely wrap his head around that – while gray clouds threaten snow outside, half the bustling city around them desperate for a white Christmas and the other half daring hope for stress-free holiday travel and –

Like something out of a dream, he remembers snowflakes sticking to John’s hair as they toured the memorials on the Mall nearly five years ago.

“Alex?”

“Hm?”

John caresses a hand over his cheek. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He smiles and surges forward. Kisses him one more time, slow and careful, before rolling back over onto his back and staring contemplatively up at the ceiling. “We should do that again sometime.”

“You’ll have no argument from me.”

Cold coffee forgotten on the nightstand, they drift back to sleep, Alexander’s heart full, feeling fit to burst in the best way.

Satisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> (I haven't written smut in a long time, hi.)


End file.
